


While the Cat's Away

by Cusp_of_Sensitivity



Series: The Unfaithful Collection [3]
Category: Gotham (TV), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alphabet Cities, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Birthday Sex, Bisexual Constance, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Clothed Sex, Couch Sex, Crossover Pairings, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Desk Sex, Dildos, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Fuckbuddies, Hospital Sex, Hot Tub Sex, Hotel Sex, Kitchen Sex, Library Sex, Masturbation, Meet-Cute, Mile High Club, Modern AU, Movie Theater Sex, Multi, One Night Stands, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Sex, Prostitute Anne, Public Sex, Roommates/Lovers, Sex Is Fun, Sex Toys, Sex in a Car, Sex with the Boss, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Stories are consequence-free environments, Stripper Sylvie, Supermarket Athos, Tantric Sex, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Workplace Sex, food and sex, girl talk, reading is sexy, vacation sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-10-14 16:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cusp_of_Sensitivity/pseuds/Cusp_of_Sensitivity
Summary: A bunch of smut about what Constance gets up to when D'artagnan's not around





	1. In the Club

“I’ll get the next round,” Constance said, pitching her voice over the loud music from the band.

It was salsa night at Club Fantasia, their favorite nightclub in Montmartre, so Constance and her roommates, Anne and Sylvie, decided to do a girl’s night out, putting on their party dresses and dancing shoes. Constance made her way to the bar, which was packed two deep. When she got the bartender’s attention, she shouted their order and handed him the cash to cover it and a tip. The bartender shouted back that it would be a while until they got their drinks as the bar had a lot of orders. She nodded and backed away, bumping into the person behind her.

“Sorry,” she said, turning around to look up at the very handsome man with chocolate brown eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not injured,” he said with a Spanish lilt. “I’m Aramis, by the way.”

“Constance,” she returned with a smile.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, offering his hand.

“Love to,” she replied, taking it and letting him lead her to the dance floor.

The band struck up a samba and Aramis smoothly pulled her into his arms. Together they danced to the Brazilian rhythm, their bodies brushing sensually against each other as they moved through the steps that were weaving an enchantment around them. Constance gave herself up to the joy of dancing, letting the music fill her with the glorious feeling of a woman who knew how to enjoy her life, who had no qualms about dancing with a beautiful stranger. Aramis moved her into a dramatic dip as the ended, bringing her breathlessly back to her feet. With her blue eyes shining, Constance went up on her toes to whisper in his ear. His mouth curling into a sexy smile was all she needed to take his hand and lead him from the dance floor, away from the crowd and down an empty corridor.

She felt the bloom of dampness spread between her legs as they entered the men’s room, which was also free of occupants. They went to the stall at the end and locked the door behind them. Aramis held out his hand and even though he hadn’t said a word, she knew exactly what he wanted. Reaching up under her skirt, she pulled down the small bikini that covered her mound, putting a hand on the wall for balance as she passed the brief over one heel, then the other. She placed the scrap of satin in his hand, blushing at his wolfish grin when he saw the soaked crotch. He put her underwear in his pocket, then turned her around and eased her forward so she was bent over the toilet. He pulled her skirt up around her waist, caressing the soft round globes of her buttocks that smiled up at him. Constance bit her lip in anticipation as she heard him unfasten his belt and lower the zipper of his trousers. She couldn’t stop herself from letting out a moan when his husky cockhead pushed her slit open, her pussy offering no resistance to his corpulent size expanding her channel to its full capacity. Holding her hips in a firm grasp, he thrust hard and deep, groaning as he felt her walls caressing him intimately. They quickly found a rhythm that had them both trembling from the sensual pleasure of their copulation. For what seemed like an eternity, the only sound was the wet squish of his burly erection shoving its way into her sodden body. He reached around to work a finger between her nether lips, finding the swollen nub and pushing on it at the same time his cock jabbed at her sweet spot. She cried out with pleasure as the door opened and two male voices entered the restroom. The men used the facilities, and when she heard the sinks turn on she also heard their comments on the lucky man in the last stall who got to enjoy such an eager slut. The door opened again and there were new voices with new prurient comments on the lewd act going on in the last stall. Constance found that the revolving carousal of male speculation of what obscene acts she would do only aroused her even more and her pussy squeezed the stout shaft buried deep between her thighs as she found the most delicious orgasm. She didn’t bother to stifle the cries of joy as she climaxed and her hips bounced with the impact of his pounding strokes as he prepared for his own release. Aramis held her lower body still, with her outer sex flush against his plump testes, and she felt the warmth as streams of seed were let loose from his cock.

“Mi Amor,” he growled, pushing himself against her as his body emptied into hers. When he was completely spent, he eased his cock out of her, grabbing a small wad of toilet paper to press between her thighs to absorb his come starting to dribble down her leg. 

Constance stood up and straightened her skirt while Aramis refastened his trousers. Turning around to face him, she went up on her toes again to kiss him deeply, thanking him for the erotic experience they’d just enjoyed together. Leaving the stall, she grabbed a paper towel, asking the man who had finished washing his hands if he had a pen. Wordlessly, the stunned man handed her the pen, and she wrote down her phone number. She handed the towel to Aramis and returned the pen to its owner. With a last brilliant smile at her companion, she left the restroom and made her way back through the club to the seats that Sylvie and Anne occupied. Constance was pleased to see that their drinks had arrived, her friends holding theirs as they chatted, while her lemon drop waited patiently for her on the small table in front of her seat. 

“So,” Sylvie smiled at Constance over her own drink, taking in her post-coital glow as she sat down, “how was the Latin lover?”

“Amazing,” Constance told her as she picked up her lemon drop. She was glad she’d given the bartender a good tip, because this was the best lemon drop she’d ever had. Or maybe it was that the tart drink was the perfect complement to the throb of her well-fucked pussy. She savored the pleasure coursing through her body.

“I think you’ve got a message,” Anne said, pointing to Constance’s purse, which was making noise.

Constance reached for her purse and pulled out her phone, checking for messages. Sure enough, there was a new one.

“D’artagnan’s getting back from Algiers tomorrow,” she said, reading them the text from her boyfriend. “I’ll need to pick him up from the airport at two.”

“How was his trip?” Anne asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Very well,” she replied. “They’ve picked up a new supplier for the top-secret face cream the Comtesse de la Fere is developing.”

“He’s certainly become an invaluable employee since taking over the product development department,” Anne said. Constance nodded her agreement.

“While you two talk cosmetics,” Sylvie said, setting down her drink and standing up, “I’m going to find my own Don Juan for tonight. I can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Happy hunting,” Constance said, raising her glass in a toast.


	2. Ten Items or Less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my homage to "Supermarket Sam".

Constance stood in the supermarket, perusing the bottles of red wine on the shelves in front of her. Her basket was filled with the ingredients for a delicious steak dinner, but the only problem was, she would be dining alone. D’artagnan was going to be in Budapest until the weekend, and Anne and Sylvie were both working tonight. And if there was one thing she hated, it was being by herself. She thrived on being surrounded by other people, on enjoying their company and talking to them. She couldn’t understand the appeal of solitude or why someone would want to go to a cabin out in the middle of nowhere when there was so much life in a city like Paris. But, of course, that wasn’t going to help her decide which wine to drink with dinner.

“Do you need help?” a rich baritone voice asked from behind her.

Constance turned around to see a tall, devastatingly handsome man with shaggy brown hair that brushed his shoulders, dressed in well-cut jeans and a blue cashmere sweater. His perfectly trimmed goatee called attention to the scar on the upper lip of his sensuous mouth, and round, metal-framed glasses only made his green eyes even more hypnotic. The whole effect was one that would make any woman stop and stare as he passed by. 

“Please,” she said, giving him her best damsel-only-partially-in-distress smile. “I’m trying to find a wine to go with steak.”

“Well,” he said, brushing his hair back from his face as he stepped up next to her, “the Saint-Julien will have notes of cigar and pencil shavings and smoother tannins. But the Minervois will be fuller-bodied and have more spice. Which would you prefer?”

“I like spice,” Constance replied, subtly inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“The Minervois it is, then” he said, deftly plucking the chosen bottle from the shelf and handing it to her to place in her basket.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said, smiling up at him and holding out her hand. “I’m Constance.”

“I’m Athos,” he replied, taking her hand and holding it a little longer than necessary. “Well,” he said as he released his grip, “I’d better let you get back to your shopping. I’m sure you have dinner plans that you need to hurry home to.”

“I’m dining alone,” she confessed. “Rather silly, considering I bought enough steak for two.”

“As it happens, I’m also lacking a dinner companion,” Athos told her. “I just dashed in to pick up some cannoli.” He held up a small wrapped box from the bakery. “You know,” he licked his lips in an unconscious movement, “my apartment is in the building across the street. Why don’t you join me? There’s enough pastry in here for two as well.”

Constance pulled her gaze away from staring at his mouth to consider his warm, sea-green eyes. “All right,” she agreed with a smile just as warm.

They headed over to the checkout counter so the cashier could ring up her purchases. When the cashier told them the total, Constance reached into her purse to pay, but Athos was already handing him bills to cover the cost. He took the bagged groceries from the courtesy clerk with a nod of thanks and together they left the supermarket. Looking both ways, they dashed across the street just as the dark gray clouds overhead let loose a heavy downpour. The touch of Athos’ hand on the small of her back as he guided her to the entrance of his apartment building sent a warm flutter right to her stomach. The two of them huddled close as Athos produced the key to let them into the building. Constance looked around at the ornate Second Empire architecture as they got into the lift to go up to the top floor, thinking that there couldn’t be a more perfect setting for this man who moved with an easy masculine grace, with broad shoulders that spoke of naked physical power, a steel fist encased in a velvet glove. Constance felt the warmth in her stomach pool lower in her belly as they headed down the corridor to Athos’ apartment. The sound of the key turning in the lock sent a bolt of desire shivering through her whole body.  
“Make yourself at home,” Athos said over his shoulder as he headed down the hall toward the kitchen. Constance stared in wonder at the beautifully and tastefully decorated apartment. She set her purse and coat down on a chair that looked to be an original Louis XIII, looking around at the room that was obviously the result of very old money. She went over to the fireplace, looking at the many photos lining the mantelpiece, taking note of the lack of signs of a female presence.

“This is a nice place you have here,” she said, making her way toward the kitchen.

“Thank you,” he said as she walked into the kitchen. He opened a drawer and took out a corkscrew. “It’s been in my family for generations.” He inserted the screw and pulled out the cork with an audible pop.

“How many generations are we talking about?” she asked as he set the bottle on the counter to breathe.

“About a dozen or so of Norman comtes,” he replied as he tossed some haricots verts in oil to coat them. Constance watched as he put the green beans on a baking sheet and put them in the oven. He looked at home in the modern kitchen that any chef would love to have. His moves were precise and economical as he went from the oven back to the cutting board to chop herbs. 

“A comte, hmm?” Constance said, spotting a pair of wineglasses and bringing them over. “Do you have a chateau?”

Athos nodded. “Southeast of Rouen,” he said, seasoning the steaks and placing them on the grill section of the range. “Outside a tiny village called Pinon. I’ve made it a project of mine to restore it to its former glory.”

“That sounds like a monumental task,” Constance said, watching him move around the kitchen.

“I like being able to work to with my hands,” Athos said, setting a double boiler on the stove to make the sauce. “It makes a nice change from dealing with stocks and commodities all day.” He removed the steaks from the grill and placed them on the cutting board to rest as Constance went through the cupboards to locate plates. “If you’re ever in Normandy, you should come visit. I’ll show you around.”

“I’d like that,” Constance said, putting the plates on the counter. She watched the flurry of activity as Athos made the béarnaise sauce, finishing just as the timer on the green beans went off. He took them out of the oven, then brought over the sauce. He plated up the dinner, garnishing the green beans with slivered almonds and dressing the steaks with the béarnaise. He carried the plates into the dining room, Constance following behind with the wine, glasses, and silverware. Athos poured the wine and together they sat down at the grand mahogany table, polished to a lustrous glow. Constance cut into her steak to find it the perfect shade of medium rare. Carrying the first bite to her mouth, the meat seemed to melt on her tongue and the rich sauce added a velvety texture, with the tarragon adding an anise note. She was in heaven, eating one of the best meals she’d ever had with an incredibly attractive dinner companion, a man who looked like a movie star, who cooked like a Michelin-starred chef, who lived in a luxurious apartment and repaired an old chateau. She was very glad that she had accepted his offer to dine with him.

Later, the heavy rain battered against the bedroom window as Athos lay back on the wide bed. Constance leaned back on her arms, her feet by his ribs, grinding her hips on top his, her legs open so he could watch his cock sliding in and out of her hairless pussy. The circular undulations of her lower body brought his broad shaft to brush against the rippled butt-plug he’d inserted inside her when they undressed. Constance moaned as Athos thrust his hips up to smack her sweet spot with his rotund cockhead, letting the sensation carry her further along the path to orgasm. This was the way she loved most to end an evening like this, enjoying hot sex with a big cock, and her skin glistened with perspiration in the soft lighting as she rode him. Her head tipped back and her breath caught in her throat as he reached down to part her plump, hairless nether lips with his finger to play with the swollen nub hidden in her folds. She pressed her hips forward to get more of the sensation.

“Come now,” Athos commanded, his voice low and sexy, as he added another finger to rub the spot where their bodies joined. Constance had no choice but to climax right then, letting out a scream as her pussy clenched around his rock-hard length. Athos gripped her thighs as he thrust hard into her tightening sheath, shouting triumphantly as his cock exploded to coat her walls with his seed. Their breathing was ragged as they came down from their high. Constance smiled down at his look of pure male satisfaction, and with a giggle, she leaned forward to brush her lips against his before slithering off his body to curl up next to him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” she asked archly as he got off the bed.

“We still have the cannoli to eat, remember?” Athos said, leaning over to grab her breast, giving the nipple a soft pinch. “Among other things.” He walked down the hall to the kitchen, unconcerned with his nudity, to get the dessert.

Constance fell back against the pillows, inhaling the scent of sex that hung over the bed, luxuriating in the hum of her recently satisfied body. Looking around, she saw a room that belonged to a sybarite. Athos’ bedroom was colored in shades of black, white, and gray. The sleek furnishings seemed to suit him and the way he moved, reminding her of a jungle cat. The silken sheets under her were the softest she’d ever felt, and she wriggled her feet into the fur throw at the end of bed, knowing without having to ask that it was real silver fox. She gave Athos a winsome smile as he came back into the room with a plate holding the two cannoli. She was pleased to see that his flaccid length was still shiny with her juices. 

“Here we are,” he said, joining her on the bed again and proffering the plate. “The baker who makes these is a genius with pastry cream.”

Constance took one of the cannoli from the plate and took a bite. She closed her eyes in pure sensory overload. He was right, she thought, the baker really was a genius. The lemony cream, combined with the crisp pastry, was light yet rich and decadent at the same time. She’d gotten halfway through when the next bite fell and landed on her well-proportioned breast. Immediately, Athos was there, licking the cream from her skin.

“Keep eating,” he told her, his lips brushing her skin. Constance proceeded to finish the cannoli, letting the crumbs fall for Athos’ waiting mouth. She licked her lips, getting the last of the pastry cream. Athos lightly kissed her neck, then pulled away.

“My turn,” he said, bringing the plate over, and Constance saw that he hadn’t touched his cannoli. She watched as he broke it apart, smearing the dessert all over her body, from her breasts to her mound. Leaning over her, he ate off her body, his tongue picking up every bit of cream and flake of pastry off her luscious breasts, taking the darkened nipples into his mouth and sucking them until they were unbearably hard. When he moved lower to clean her stomach, Constance felt dampness spread between her thighs, wanting him to continue the intimate caresses. As his mouth brushed her belly just above her folds, she lifted her hips in a silent plea for him to go lower. She whimpered when he moved away from her instead.

“On your knees,” he said, opening the bedside drawer and taking out a bottle of lube.

Constance got on her hands and knees, watching as Athos spread a liberal amount of lube on his swollen erection, his hand pumping firmly on his hard length before he got back on the bed right behind her. She felt his hot cock pulsing against her hip as he spread her cheeks and slowly removed the butt-plug, pausing after each ripple to let her hole close around every bead, making her moan. He inserted two lube-coated fingers inside her, using shallow strokes, then going deeper to probe, spreading them apart to stretch her gently before he removed them to grip her ass as his cockhead pressed insistently against her hole to open her body to his invasion. Constance arched her back as Athos’ heavy crown slid inside her, hearing him groan with satisfaction as his length inched forward to explore her body. She had tried anal sex with a couple of previous boyfriends, but they had always seemed unsure of what they were doing, so the experiences weren’t the greatest. Athos, on the other hand, drew cries of delight from her almost effortlessly as he stroked in and out of her ass, and Constance’s hole clenched tightly around him. 

“I knew you were going to be good in bed,” Constance moaned breathlessly, “but I didn’t realize…” she broke off as Athos plunged further. 

“Damn, you can fuck,” Athos growled as he thrust hard, going in to the hilt. 

Constance cried out her need for release as his hips bucked against hers and his hand went back between her legs to find her pearl swollen and aching for attention. His fingers danced over the little nub and Constance flew into the stratosphere, her orgasm sending shivers down her spine as her empty pussy contracted and her rectum squeezed her lover’s cock. Athos gripped her hips and pulled her back onto his rigid length, holding her in place as he spurted his seed in her ass. She collapsed, exhausted, when he finally pulled out of her, drifting into a completely sated slumber. Her last thought as he drew the silky sheets over their bodies, his lips softly brushing her cheek, was that she was absolutely going to take him up on his offer of playing tour guide.

The next morning, sunlight shone through the window, sending golden rays toward the bed where Constance lay sleeping, dreaming of a Renaissance garden and a handsome prince with deep olive skin and dark brown eyes. Just as the prince was about to kiss her, a hand crept up from behind to cup her breast as warm lips nestled against her throat. Still dreaming, Constance pushed her hips back to rub her bottom against the thick morning erection that was making its presence known. She moaned softly in protest at being disturbed as Athos eased her onto her back, spreading her thighs so he could settle between them. Gripping his cock, he guided himself to her slit, finding her already wet so he glided into her easily, her pussy offering no resistance, just wrapping him in silky softness. Bracing himself above her, he began to move.

“Mm,” she purred, opening her eyes to smile up at him, “you’re much better than an alarm clock.”

Athos grinned back down at her as his thrusts picked up speed. “Are you always this wet in the morning?” he asked, groaning as he pumped back and forth between her legs.

“Uh huh,” she replied, lifting her hips to meet his. “Especially when I get to have a splendid cock like yours.” Her breasts bounced in time with his strokes as they fucked each other energetically, having recovered from their intimate exertions of the night before. With her hips working like a piston, Constance reached down to grip his taut buttocks to get him to go deeper inside her.

“Oh, yes,” she moaned as he smacked her sweet spot at a steady pace. Her cries got louder as she urged him to ride higher on her, his pelvis grinding on her pearl. It didn’t take long for her to reach the climax she was reaching for, arching her back as waves of pleasure washed over her. Athos soon joined her, unable to resist the demands of her pussy contracting around him.

“Fuck,” he growled as his cock spewed seed in steady streams between her thighs. His hair hung down in damp strands around his face as his breathing steadied. “Do you have any plans for today?” he asked, heat still lingering in his eyes.

Constance shook her head. “It’s my day off,” she told him, running her hands over his flanks.

“How about breakfast, then?”

“Sounds delightful,” she said as he eased himself out of her vibrating warmth


	3. Top Gear

The bar at the Havana Spring Café was busy with the after-work crowd on a Friday evening. Constance had joined a group of her coworkers from the Belle Fleur Research Hospital for drinks after they all got off shift. She enjoyed being able to unwind after a long day working in the “dream clinic”, working with the sleep disorder patients, plus it took her mind off missing D’artagnan, who was still in Copenhagen. The group ordered several rounds of mojitos and Cuba Libres and snacked on empanadas and fried plantains as they chatted about their plans for the weekend, the latest book they’d read, the new movies they wanted to see, and which person at the hospital was in the market for a new paramour. A few people were putting together plans for a trip to Amsterdam for the Cannabis Cup, taking the train and spending the weekend there. Constance didn’t smoke, but she thought it would be good to get away for a few days instead of moping around the apartment. She agreed to meet up with the group at the train station the next morning. When the server brought the table’s check, she contributed her share and then went to use the ladies’ room.

As she was walking back to the bar area, Constance took out her phone to check for messages, so she didn’t see the black-clad figure to her right until she’d collided with him. She felt the liquid that had been in his glass hit her squarely in the chest and looked down to see that the entire glass of red wine that he’d been holding was now staining the front of her blouse.

“I am so sorry, Mademoiselle,” the deep male voice said apologetically, and Constance looked up to see a gorgeous man with café au lait skin looking at her with concern in his dark, smoky eyes as he quickly grabbed a napkin off a nearby table to hand to her.

“I’m fine,” she said, taking the napkin from him, “but I think this blouse has seen better days.” She dabbed at the red stain as best she could.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he said, still looking her over in case she was hurt.

“It was my fault,” Constance said reassuringly. “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

“Is there anything I can do to make up for ruining your shirt?” he asked.

“Well, you could start by buying me a drink to make me feel better,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m Constance.”

“I’m Porthos,” he replied, and her stomach fluttered when his smile revealed two perfect dimples on the sides of his cheeks.

The two of them went back to the bar, where they ordered a bottle of white wine and some Cubano sandwiches. Over the impromptu dinner, Constance learned that Porthos was working on his graduate degree in physical therapy at Diderot University because he’d always wanted to live in Paris even though he’d grown up in England. She told him about her work at the research hospital, how she enjoyed helping people who had trouble sleeping, and recommended that he talk to Dr. Boutroux about the studies he was conducting on sports rehabilitation. He thanked her with another smile that sent a jolt of desire coursing through her and she could feel herself getting wet at thoughts of what the two of them could do together. Her eyes roamed over him, taking in the curly black hair that she could run her fingers through, clenching and pulling on it in the moment of ecstasy, the full lips that she could imagine kissing any number of places on her body, the broad shoulders and well-muscled arms showing through the fitted T-shirt that could hold her tightly as they moved together intimately. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she almost missed his comments to the bartender as he settled their bill.

“Can I walk you to your car?” he asked as they rose from their seats.

“I’d like that,” Constance said, as he put his jacket around her, covering her stained blouse. Together they walked out of the café and over to the parking garage across the street. When they got in the elevator to go to the fifth floor where she was parked, she stood close to Porthos, intensely aware of the effect he was having on her body on the way up. They got out of the elevator and walked toward Constance’s car. When she’d drove into the garage, the floor was so packed with cars that she had to park in the farthest spot from the elevator. Now, with the entire floor empty, the walk to her car seemed like walking toward a mirage in the desert. Their footsteps rang out as they walked over the concrete to get to her silver Peugot 508. Constance reached into her purse and took out the keys, pressing the button twice to unlock all the doors. She turned to face Porthos.

“Thank you for joining me for dinner,” he said as she handed him back his jacket.

“The night’s not over yet,” she told him, opening the door to the back seat. With a mischievous smile, Constance undid the front of her blouse, taking it off and tossing it into the car. Climbing in, she unhooked and removed her bra, revealing shapely breasts the color of fresh cream and dusky rose nipples that were hardened with desire, then pulled her skirt up around her waist to show him she was naked underneath.

A wickedly sexy smile lit up his face as he climbed in with her, closing the door behind him. Looming over her, he brought his lips down on hers in a hungry kiss, his hand moving to squeeze her breast, testing the resiliency of her flesh and playing with the budding peak. His size filled Constance’s senses as well as the snug backseat and she had no choice but to wrap herself around his body. She slipped her hands under his shirt to run them over his flat, rippled stomach. Porthos broke off their kiss to pull his shirt over his head and throw it on top of her blouse. Constance’s hands went to the front of his jeans, unfastening them and lowering the zipper. Anticipation coursed through her as she slid the jeans off his hips, taking his briefs with them, freeing his already partially erect cock.

“Like what you see?” Porthos asked with a smile in his voice as she wrapped her fingers around his thick girth.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, stroking her hand along his hardening length. She was accustomed to fucking larger men, but Porthos had by far the biggest cock that she was going to slide in her pussy. That thought only made her wetter and more eager to fuck him. “I’m going to come so hard with you,” she promised him.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, covering her hand with his to tighten her grip on him, jerking his hips rapidly to make her pump him.

When his tip was leaking milky fluid, he eased her hand away and spread her thighs as far as they could go in the confined space. Constance arched her back at the sensation of his hot, throbbing shaft slowly opening her slit, moving incrementally to let her wetness ease his way to her core.

“Damn, you feel good,” he growled, savoring every inch of his possession. When he had her stretched taut around him, he began to move.

His strokes were slow and steady, and Constance moaned as she felt the familiar thrill course through her, lifting her hips to his to urge him to go faster.

“Faster,” she said breathlessly, as she got closer to the edge of release.

“Uh-uh,” he told her, shaking his head. “This feels good.” He kept the pace that was driving Constance mad as he thrust back and forth inside her wet sheath.

“Please,” she begged, her voice almost a sob. “I need to come.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Porthos replied, his own voice rough with desire. He flicked her swollen nub with his thumb and Constance reeled, climaxing just as she’d promised him, shuddering with satisfaction as her pussy contracted around him again and again.

“Beautiful,” he said as she floated back down from her cloud, brushing her limp hair away from her forehead. “But I think you still have one more in you.” He had paused in his thrusting to enjoy the feel of her getting hotter, wetter, and tighter around his cock as she came, her face lighting up when her orgasm happened, but now he resumed his rhythm to bring her right back to the brink. Without warning he changed, not the speed, but the depth of his stroke and Constance climaxed for a second time, crying out as her walls returned to squeezing his iron length demandingly. When he judged her too far gone to care, Porthos finally granted her earlier request, pounding into her hard and fast to join her in climaxing, shouting as his cock poured seed into her pussy. They grinned at each other as they enjoyed the afterglow, the scent of sex filling the car.

“Why don’t,” Constance said, reaching down to pick up her car keys off the floor and dangle them in from of him, “we head over to your place and continue our evening?”

Porthos answered with another sexy smile, taking the keys from her and easing himself out of her clinging warmth. Getting out of the car, he put his shirt back on, then pulled his pants back up and refastened them before moving into the driver’s seat. Constance reached forward to grab the sweater she’d left in the front passenger seat, pulling it over her head.

The drive to his home was quick, Porthos guiding the car through the streets of Paris with ease. He pulled up in front of his apartment building and Constance felt the heat of anticipation come back to her body. Porthos got out of the car and went around to open the door to help her out, grabbing the stained blouse and her bra off the floor. They went up the steps to the entrance, and while Porthos found his keys, Constance set her lips to his throat.

“Keep that up,” he said, just managing to fit the key to the lock, “and I’ll fuck you right here.”

“Mmm, that sounds good,” she replied. “Let’s do that.”

Porthos gave her an arch look, opening the door and dragging her in. When they reached his apartment, Porthos took her blouse into the kitchen to treat the stain while Constance went into the living room where she looked around at the anatomy charts and musculature diagrams that decorated the walls. Vinyl covered wedges and bolsters were scattered around the room along with biology and medical textbooks. She was looking through one on treating muscular imbalance when Porthos came up behind her and pulled her back against him, pressing her hips back so she could feel the hard ridge under his jeans. Setting the book down, Constance turned in his arms, going up on her toes to kiss him.

“Now, where were we?” Porthos asked, pulling her sweater over her head and shoving skirt down her legs so she was completely undressed, then took off his own shirt. He eased her down onto a wedge so she felt the blue vinyl beneath her back. Her eyes lit up with eagerness as he undid his jeans and shoved them off his hips, his massive erection springing free and already leaking. Constance spread her thighs for him, but to her surprise, he lifted her legs over her head.

“You have a good range of motion,” he said, draping her legs over his shoulders and guiding his shaft to her wet pussy. Constance gasped as he slid his length inside her. She had felt his huge size back in the car, but this position made him feel truly gigantic. She moaned when he moved inside her, using that same slow but steady rhythm that Constance found herself quickly becoming addicted to, and she could only whisper encouragement as he fucked her into the vinyl covered foam, her body welcoming the pressure of his cock causing her to lose control. She screamed as another amazing orgasm rolled through her, and her pussy worked his shaft like a magic fist until he lost control as well, spurting hot seed like a ruptured pipe.

In the morning, Constance woke up in a tangle of bed sheets, the arms of a sleeping Porthos around her, holding her close. Slowly, she eased herself out of bed without waking him and padded gingerly toward the shower, her pussy reminding her of last night’s carnal activities. The hot water felt wonderful as it massaged her muscles. Afterward, she padded out of the bathroom in a towel to collect the clothes strewn about the living room, quickly donning her own clothes before picking up his to carry them back to the bedroom. Setting them down, she sat on the bed as Porthos’ eyes fluttered open.

“You’re up early,” he said sleepily, reaching for her.

“I have a train to catch,” she told him, leaning over to give him a good morning kiss.

“You could stay,” he said, brushing his lips against hers. “Catch the next one.”

“I promised that I’d be there,” she said, giving him one last smooch before pulling away. She handed him a paper on which she’d written her phone number. “Call me when my blouse is ready.”

Stepping out of the apartment building into the crisp morning air, Constance hurried to her car and drove to the Gare du Nord. Grabbing the overnight bag that she always kept in the trunk, she went into the ladies’ room to change clothes. Emerging dressed in fresh clothes, she went to the ticket booth and purchased her seat on the next train to Amsterdam. Spotting her coworkers, she waved at them and hurried along the platform to join them in boarding the train.


	4. Midnight Snack

“How’s Dublin?” Constance asked, holding the phone to her ear as she lay on the bed in her room.

“Very green,” D’artagnan’s voice replied, coming over the line. “And it rains a lot. I even spotted a couple of leprechauns.”

“You did not,” Constance laughed.

“No,” D’artagnan agreed. “But I did pick up a very nice bottle of whiskey for you. I hope you like it.”

“Only if you’re there to share it with me,” Constance said.

“Promise,” D’artagnan laughed, and Constance felt a thrill in her belly at the sound. She’d missed talking to him. “What are you wearing?’ he asked, his voice thickening with desire.

“A black lace merry widow,” she lied unapologetically, knowing she was wearing nothing of the sort. “With flowers that barely cover my tits.” His groan had her picturing him in his hotel room, completely naked, his hand wrapped around his throbbing erection. 

“Is the crotch undone?” he asked roughly.

“Yes,” she told him with a smile. “I’m sliding my fingers down my stomach. Now they’re between my legs, sliding into my pussy. I’m so wet right now, thinking about you, Charles. Wishing you were here to fuck me.” His panting breaths had her biting her lip to stifle the wicked laughter that bubbled up inside her. “Good night, Charles,” she said, hanging up the phone and setting it on the bedside table.

“D’artagnan’s enjoying Ireland,” she said, looking down her naked body at the figure between her legs.

“You shouldn’t tease him like that,” Anne said as she lifted her head, her lips and chin glistening with Constance’s juices.

“I know,” Constance replied breathlessly as Anne’s teeth lightly nipped at her plump nether lips, “but I just couldn’t resist. Now I have to go out and buy new lingerie.”

“You should get something soft,” Anne said, kissing the delicate skin of her inner thigh, tantalizingly close to her bare slit. “Something romantic.” She turned her head to place a kiss in the exact same spot on the other thigh.

“Is that what you think D’artagnan would like,” Constance asked, raising an eyebrow, “or what you yourself want to see me in?”

“Does it matter?” Anne asked, spreading her nether lips to lick a stripe from her pussy to her pearl. “You’ll look like sin no matter who’s looking at you.”

Constance gasped as Anne sucked on her swollen nub, eliciting another moan from her lips. They both had the night off tonight and had each planned a quiet night in, but two bottles of champagne had soon led to them making out on the couch, both completely topless, licking the tiny bubbles off each other’s nipples. Their panties quickly joined the rest of their clothing on the floor, and then their fingers were delving between each other’s thighs, finding pussies that were completely drenched. Anne remembered that Sylvie was still out on a date, so they hurried, giggling like schoolgirls, into Constance’s room, locking the door behind them and diving onto the bed. Anne had trailed a line of kisses down Constance’s curvy body and settled between her thighs to eat her out when Constance’s phone rang. Constance had been tempted to ignore it, but she saw that the call was from D’artagnan and since she hadn’t heard from him since he’d left for Ireland on a business trip with the Comtesse, she decided to answer the phone. So, she had to endure the sweet torture of Anne’s tongue doing all sorts of deliciously wicked things between her legs while she tried to have a conversation with her boyfriend. And Anne hadn’t made it easy for her, with a tongue that lapped at Constance’s nectar and darted back and forth around her pearl, sending all thoughts out of her head even as she pressed herself against Anne’s face, shuddering at the silky touch of her tongue penetrating her.

Anne slithered back up Constance’s body to kiss her, letting the other woman taste herself on the soft lips that had brought her so much pleasure, while her hands went to Constance’s luscious breasts, squeezing them and teasing the nipples to hardened peaks. They broke off their kiss when they heard an orgasmic scream coming from Sylvie’s bedroom.

“Sounds like Lucien’s doing a good job of keeping Sylvie happy,” Anne said drily, referring to their roommate’s new boyfriend. They both giggled and resumed their kiss. Anne’s hand snaked down Constance’s body. She parted her thighs, moaning when Anne’s delicately tapered fingers slid into her wet channel. Her hips pumped as Anne stroked her sweet spot, rubbing it in just the right way to make Constance lose her mind.

“Oh god, that feels good,” she panted, her lower body grinding as she fucked Anne’s hand. “Don’t stop.”

Anne buried her lips in Constance’s throat as she continued her ministrations, her fingers shining as though she was mining liquid diamonds. Constance found the rhythm she needed to climax, holding Anne close as her pussy contracted and she cried out her joy before sinking back into the pillows, completely sated. She opened her eyes to see Anne grinning down at her and licking her juices off those elegant fingers. Constance grinned back at her.

“After that,” she said, sitting up and planting a kiss on Anne’s lips before getting off the bed, “I think I’m going to need a snack to restore my energy.”

“Here,” said Anne, tossing her the T-shirt she usually slept in. “Put this on in case you run into Lucien.”

Constance donned her sleep shirt and padded quietly down the hall to the kitchen. Without turning on the light, she went straight to the cupboard where they stored their snack foods and took out the squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup. The light flicked on and a scratchy male voice caught her attention. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Constance turned around to see a man standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but plaid boxer shorts. She had to admit that Sylvie had diverse taste in the men she brought home and this one was no exception. With shaggy brown hair, eyes the color of whiskey, a full beard that was a lighter brown, almost ginger shade, and lean, muscular body, Constance thought he looked like a very sexy lumberjack.

“I was just coming in to get a snack,” she said, setting the syrup down on the island in the middle of the kitchen. “You must be Lucien.”

He nodded. “And you must be Constance,” he said in that rough voice that had her getting wet all over again. “Sylvie’s told me about you.”

“Sylvie could tell you a lot of things about me,” she said, giving him a dazzling sensual smile. “One thing she could tell you is how much I love to fuck men in the kitchen.” She pulled the sleep shirt over her head, revealing her naked body, and tossed it next to the syrup, then turned, reaching behind her to hoist herself up on the island countertop, spreading her thighs far apart so he could see her shiny wet pussy. Lucien’s eyes darkened with lust as he stepped between her legs, his boxer shorts falling around his ankles. Constance smiled as she reached down to wrap her fingers around the thick base of his shaft. She and Sylvie may have different tastes in men, but one thing they agreed on was the love of fucking huge cocks, and Lucien was certainly up to their demanding standards. She stroked his hardening length with one hand while her other cupped his testes, her fingertips brushing the baby smooth underside, making him groan audibly. She kissed him, sealing his lips with the reminder to be quiet. When he was fully erect, Lucien gripped her thighs to lift her off the counter and onto his cock, letting gravity pull her down along his rock-hard length. When her pussy covered him completely, he began to thrust, and Constance moved one of her arms to his shoulder so she could get better leverage to grind on him. They bit their lips to stifle their groans of satisfaction, not wanting to wake the sleeping Sylvie, so the only sound was that of their bodies slapping together as their hips pumped rapidly in time with each other. Constance’s head tipped back as Lucien’s pelvis ground against her swollen pearl, her open mouth emitting a soundless cry as she reached orgasm, her pussy spasming uncontrollably around him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips down on his as he joined her in release, his cock shooting hot seed inside her. 

“I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around here,” she said lazily, brushing her lips against his before he slowly eased her off his spent shaft and set her on her feet. She grabbed the chocolate syrup and threw her T-shirt over her shoulder. “Good night,” she said, giving him a saucy look over her shoulder as she went back down the hall to her room. She opened the door to find Anne laying on the bed, thighs wide open, her thumb pressing her pearl and her fingers sliding into her pussy as she watched a porn video on the DVD player.

“How was Lucien’s cock?” she asked as Constance closed the door and came back to bed.

“Long and thick,” Constance told her as she knelt between Anne’s legs. “You’ll love sucking it.” It was generally agreed that Anne was the best at oral sex, a talent that made her the most in demand girl of Madame Angel, who ran Paris’ most expensive and discreet escort service.

“I’m sure I will,” Anne said, removing her hand as Constance took the cap off the chocolate syrup. Turning the bottle upside down, Constance drizzled syrup all over Anne’s nether lips and pussy.

“And now,” she said, moving onto her belly in to front of Anne’s mound, “time for my snack.”


	5. Office Space

Constance hurried through the rain, holding her leather jacket over her head as she dashed through the rain to the door of the Comtesse Cosmetics corporate headquarters, quickly running into the lobby. Sliding her arms into the jacket, she turned around to see through the glass front the storm clouds open and send sheets of heavy rain pouring down on the pavement, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she had just made it in time. Flipping her hair out from her jacket and turned to the reception desk, where Agnes, the head receptionist, smiled in recognition and buzzed her in, letting her go up the floor where D’artagnan’s office was. Constance headed straight to his office, smiling brightly at the employees who looked up for their cubicles as she passed by. When she reached the door of his office, she slowly turned the handle so it was soundless, and entered her boyfriend’s office.

She pulled up short when she saw his office was empty. She blinked, disbelieving what her eyes were showing her. Today was her birthday, and the two of them had planned to go out to dinner to celebrate. She had worn his favorite dress, a blue number that hugged every curve and had to be peeled off her. How could he not be there when they’d agreed to meet at his office? Constance went in search of him all over the floor, but came up empty. She was standing by the office of D’artagnan’s boss, Jean Treville, looking around and trying to spot him, when she heard a voice through the open door.

“Is something wrong, Constance?” Treville asked from where he sat at his desk.

“Have you seen D’artagnan?” she responded, turning to face him. “It’s my birthday, and we were supposed to meet here to go out to dinner.”

“Didn’t he call you?” Treville asked, getting up and coming over to her. “There’s a massive storm pummeling Edinburgh. All flights have been cancelled. The team won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest.”

Constance reached into her purse for her phone, realizing she hadn’t turned it back on since leaving work. As soon as it came back to life, a message icon flashed at her. Putting the phone to her ear, Constance heard D’artagnan’s voice apologetically explaining that his flight had been grounded, that he wouldn’t get back until the airport reopened, and promising that he would do something extra special for her to celebrate her birthday.

“It seems you were right,” she said when she finished listening to the message. “D’artagnan’s stuck in Edinburgh tonight.” She returned her phone to her purse. “This is not the way I expected to spend my birthday,” she let out a disappointed sigh.

Treville smiled sympathetically. “Come here,” he said, inviting her in, “Why don’t I get you a drink. I keep a very nice bottle of cognac on hand for emergencies like this.”

Constance closed the door behind her as she watched Treville go to the cabinet, where he took out a bottle of vintage Remy Martin, letting her eyes roam over him. Jean Treville was a man in his late forties, with rugged, handsome features, steely blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and a meticulously trimmed beard that drew her gaze to his lips. She watched as he moved with military precision, a reminder of the time he spent serving in the Army, where he rose to the rank of captain, before retiring and becoming a well-respected executive. D’artagnan revered him, and Constance had heard many stories about him. She also noticed that he had maintained the high standard of physical fitness required by the armed services and was very aware of the effect it was having on her own body.

Making up her mind, she locked the door and walked over to stand next to Treville as he poured the cognac into a glass.

“You know,” she said softly with a smile, “there is something that would make me feel better.” To Treville’s surprise, Constance sank down to her knees in front of him, her hands swiftly undoing the front of his trousers, and freed his cock from his briefs, licking a stripe up the side. As her tongue traced his length, she thought that there couldn’t be a better birthday present than the jumbo-size cock that curved upward from Treville’s body. She wrapped her lips around the bulbous cockhead and heard him groan thickly and sink his fingers into her hair. Her fingers went to the base of his shaft to pump him as she took him deeper into her mouth, learning the taste of him. Her hand and mouth worked together as he thrust his hips forward to get more of her intimate kisses. Constance decided to try the new trick Anne had taught her for sucking a cock and was rewarded with another groan from Treville and she felt him harden even further in her mouth. She whorled her tongue around his tip, using it to pick up the drops of salty fluid leaking from the top. Easing him from between her lips, she looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

“Let’s use the desk,” she implored, her hand continuing to stroke him lightly.

Treville pulled her to her feet, his lips coming down on hers in a scorching kiss as his hands went to her back, looking for a zipper.

“You have to peel it off,” Constance told him, her teeth nipping playfully at his jaw.

Treville eased the straps off her shoulders and pulled the dress down to her waist, groaning again when he saw that the nipples of her creamy breasts were already hard with desire. Shoving the dress over her hips so it puddled on the floor, he swore softly as she stepped out wearing only the matching blue stilettos that went with the dress, realizing that she’d come to the office wearing nothing but a smile under that skintight dress.

Constance let him lift her onto the minimalist desk which he always kept free of unnecessary clutter. She gave him an inviting smile as she opened her thighs to show him her wet pussy. Treville got on the desk between her legs, his pulsing erection in a firm grip, and guided himself to her slit, making Constance moan as his shaft tunneled smoothly to fill her completely. She didn’t know if it was his years of experience or his military training that set a brisk tempo to his thrusts, but Constance found herself racing quickly to the brink of orgasm. The curve of his cock allowed him to torture her sweet spot in a way she’d never experienced with another lover, and her eyes closed as she savored the feel of him pounding between her thighs.

“You know,” he said, his voice rough as he continued his deep strokes, “I’ve dreamed about doing this for a long time.”

“Let me guess,” she said, smiling up at him. “Ever since the office Christmas party where we met?”

Treville nodded.

“Me too,” she told him, pulling him down to kiss her. She cried into his mouth as she climaxed around him, her body convulsing with pleasure. Treville thrust harder and harder until he reached orgasm, biting her bottom lip as his cock released his seed.

“That,” she said in a voice replete with satisfaction, “was just what I needed. But,” she made a face when she saw the time on the clock hanging on the wall, “it looks like the restaurant gave my table away.”

“Don’t worry,” Treville said as he eased out of her clinging warmth and redid his trousers. “A friend of mine owns Les Philosophes,” he helped her off his desk, watching as she went to put her dress back on. “He’ll give us a table.” 

When they were both ready to leave, Treville pulled her close, brushing his lips against hers. Constance reached for the glass of cognac still sitting on the credenza, drinking half then handing the glass to Treville, who knocked back the rest. Together they left his office, riding the elevator down to the parking garage where he was parked. He opened the car for her and she sat in the passenger of the luxurious Jaguar as he drove them to one of Paris’ best restaurants. The maître d’ welcomed them warmly, taking them to Treville’s favorite table. The meal they shared was one of the most delicious she’d ever eaten, and Jean was a very seductive dinner partner. Hours later, as they lay on the bed in one of the luxury suites in the Raffles Paris hotel, Constance sank down onto Treville’s swollen cock, thinking that this really was the best birthday she’d ever had.


	6. On the Silver Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by the line in Alanis Morrisette's "You Outta Know", 'would she go down on you in a theater?'

The theater was shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the giant movie screen. There were only a few people in the theater, most Parisians preferring to spend a sunny afternoon outdoors, not stuck inside watching movies.

But the movie on the screen was _The Port of Shadows_ , Constance’s favorite film from the golden age of cinema. She knew all the lines of the story about an Army deserter trying to get the pretty girl to leave with him from Le Havre, and could recite entire scenes from memory. So, when everyone else was playing outside, she was ensconced in the back row of the upper balcony. The only other person up there was a man that she’d often seen whenever the theater showed classic films, whom she’d overhead the ticket booth teller address as Lemay. When she saw him up the stairs to the balcony, she quietly followed, pausing in the doorway to let her eyes adjust to the darkness so she could find a seat near to his.

_“You have beautiful eyes, you know… Kiss me”_

When her favorite line echoed through the theater, Constance wrapped her lips around the fat crown of Lemay’s cock, causing his head to tilt back against the wall. Kneeling between his legs, she felt his broad shaft grow and harden, reveling in being able to suck on an abundantly sized cock, something she hadn’t done since D’artagnan left for Florence five days ago. Her head bobbed as she took more of his length into her mouth, tasting his sweet and clear maleness as she suckled him. Her fingers wrapped around his girth, pumping in time with the movements of her mouth. Lemay’s hand forced her head back down after she had taken a breath, lifting his hips to go deeper into her soft, warm throat. Constance gently squeezed his testes and the taste of salty fluid let her know that he was ready for her. Lemay protested when she eased him out of her mouth and rose to her feet.

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, scrunching her long skirt up around her waist and sitting on his lap with her back to him so she could watch the movie.

Lemay gripped his cock and guided it to her sopping wet pussy, her juices easing his way until she was wrapped around him. Constance let her skirt fall around their hips as she flexed hers back to take him deeper. She had to bite her lip to stifle her moan of pleasure as he brushed her sweet spot, and she increased the tempo as she worked herself on his shaft, reaching for the orgasm she so desperately needed. Lemay shoved his hands up under her sweater to cup her breasts, his fingers massaging the nipples into tight little buds. Constance lay back against him and as they fucked they discussed the film, what they thought of the characters, their motivations, and what message they thought the filmmakers were trying to send to the audience. When the film reached the pivotal moment, Constance clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream of pleasure as her body gripped Lemay’s cock tighter than he’d ever experienced, and it wasn’t long before Lemay bit down on her shoulder as he let loose a torrent of hot seed into her pussy. They sagged back into the seat, content to stay as they were until the final scene.

When the credits rolled, Constance lifted herself off his flaccid cock, letting her skirt fall back down around her ankles. Lemay stood up, stretching from being seated for two hours, and pulled up his jeans. Taking her hand, he led her back down the stairs from the balcony. As they emerged out into the setting sun, Lemay invited her to come with him to a little bistro near his apartment where they could enjoy a nice meal before going back to his place to have sex. Having no plans for the rest of the evening, Constance agreed and, hand in hand, they walked off into the sunset.


	7. The Science of No Sleep

“Constance?” Rochefort, the assistant chief engineer asked, sticking his head into the control room.

“Yes, Rochefort?” Constance looked up from the read-out of the patient’s brainwaves.

“Would you mind helping me with the new EEG machine?” he asked. “I’ve just finished installing it and it needs to be tested.”

“Of course,” Constance handed the read out to the lab technician and followed him down the hall to the last EEG room. She’d taken a lot of extra shifts at the hospital lately, to give her something to do while D’artagnan was in Geneva for the major cosmetics expo. So, she had been running into Rochefort frequently as they both went about their work. Constance had always thought Rochefort had a certain boyish charm, despite being in his late thirties, and his working-class accent reminded her of the little village in Provence where she grew up. She also found him very attractive, with blond hair and blue eyes and a body that made her think of a Viking warrior.

She went to the control panel and flipped the switch to turn on the machine, setting the amplifiers to their proper levels, then reached for the electrodes and the conductor cream.

“On the bed,” she told Rochefort, gesturing for him to lay down.

“Why me?” he asked, eyeing the bed.

“Because I need to run the machine,” Constance said, smiling when he did as she said and getting on the bed. Constance applied all the electrodes to his head, then unbuttoned his shirt to place the heart monitors on his chest and wrists. She went back to the machine to get his baseline read out, pressing buttons to continue the monitoring.

“What happens now?” Rochefort asked, looking over at her.

“Now, we apply stimulation to your brain to see how it reacts,” she told him.

“How do we do that?” he asked.

“Oh, I think I know a good way,” Constance said, shrugging out of her lab coat. Rochefort’s eyes lit up as she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off, revealing a lacy, feminine bra. Reaching up under her conservative skirt, she pulled down her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and tossing them on the blouse. Rochefort’s hands went straight to the front of his work trousers, but Constance stopped him.

“No,” she said shaking her finger, “let me do that. We don’t want the electrodes getting displaced and disrupting the data collection. You just lay back and I’ll take care of everything.” Rochefort lay back as Constance climbed on the bed to straddle him. She swiftly undid the front of his trousers and carefully freed his half hard cock, smiling impishly when she saw that he had the length and thickness to make her come at least once while they were in bed together.

“Oh, shit,” Rochefort cursed as Constance enthusiastically pumped him, her thumb teasing the throbbing cockhead and rubbing the milky fluid that leaked from the tip into his heated flesh.

When he was ready, Constance pulled her skirt up around her waist and moved into position, guiding his cock to her wet slit, moaning as his cockhead opened her body to let him enter. She was so wet she sank down easily on his hot, hard shaft and when he was all the way in, she waited a few moments to let her pussy adjust to him before starting to move.

“You know,” she said as she glided up his cock so only the crown was still inside her, “I’ve always regretted not taking you up on your offer to fuck in the arboretum at the company picnic.” She slammed back down, smiling with satisfaction at his groan.

“You’re more than making up for it,” he said, thrusting up hard to smack her sweet spot, making Constance cry out with pleasure.

They established a brisk, steady rhythm as Constance rode his cock. When her bra strap slipped off her shoulder, Rochefort slid the other one off, then pulled down her bra so that her breasts, freed from their confines, bounced in time to their movements.

“You have really great tits,” Rochefort told her, his eyes firmly fixed on her chest.

Constance let the laughter bubbling up inside her carry her off to her orgasm, and her pussy contracted around Rochefort as her hips jerked back and forth. Rochefort groaned again as his cock exploded to drench her with seed as he reached his own orgasm. Their breathing was ragged as their heartbeats returned to normal. Constance eased herself off Rochefort and went to the EEG machine, carefully removing the read out.

“Congratulations,” she said, holding it up for him. “You’re a healthy, red-blooded male.”

“Are you sure that’s accurate?” Rochefort asked. “Maybe we should do another test.”

“You’re right,” Constance said, putting the read out down and getting back on the bed. “Better safe than sorry.”


	8. Cleaning Up

D’artagnan turned the key in the lock and opened the door to Constance’s apartment. The flight from Helsinki had gone without any kind of hitch – no delay, no lost luggage, no annoying seat neighbors – a rarity in his travel experience, so he was feeling especially relaxed as he rolled his suitcase into Constance’s room. As he flipped open his suitcase to take out a change of clothes, he heard the bathroom shower turn on. He smiled to himself, thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another shower after travelling. 

Stripping down to nothing, he silently crept down the hall to the bathroom. His cock reacted to the sight of the naked female form moving behind the frosted glass. As quietly as he could, he opened the door, getting in and pulling her back against him, squeezing her breasts and kissing her neck at the same that he pressed his burgeoning erection against her firm buttocks.

“How was Finland?” Sylvie asked as D’artagnan buried his lips in her throat, pushing her hips back to grind against his cock.

“Cold and wet,” D’artagnan said, testing his hardness against her soft flesh. “Where’s Constance?”

“She left this morning for Istanbul,” Sylvie reminded him. “The medical conference, remember?”

Sylvie knew exactly when Constance had left. It had been after the hours of amazing sex they’d had in Sylvie’s room the night before. She had sucked on the nipples of her roommate’s soft, luscious breasts until they were hard and red and all she had to do was blow on them for Constance to cry out. Then, Constance reached down between their bodies and slid her quick moving fingers into Sylvie’s dripping wet pussy, finding every sensitive spot inside her, then darting away teasingly, then coming back to stroke. Sylvie’s hips undulated as she moved against Constance’s hand, moaning when those delectable fingers pressed her sweet spot, whimpering when they moved on. Fortunately, Constance decided not to tease her too much, and brought her to orgasm by using her mouth to find the pearl hidden in Sylvie’s hairless folds and pressing it with her tongue until she screamed. Sylvie gulped down air while Constance strapped on the twelve-inch, extra-wide dildo that was Sylvie’s favorite toy. Kneeling between her thighs, Constance thrust into her, using the deep, hard strokes that she knew got Sylvie right back to panting and her hips pumping like a piston to reach her next orgasm. Without breaking rhythm, Constance leaned over to bring her lips down on Sylvie’s, her hand cupping the honey brown breast, and swallowed Sylvie’s cries of release. Not to be outdone, Sylvie strapped on the dildo and plunged into Constance’s equally sodden pussy, riding high just the way Constance liked her to, while her hands went back to playing with her favorite pair of breasts. When Constance had climaxed from the demanding pace she had set, Sylvie took off the dildo and settled between her thighs to lick her from her slit to her pearl, tasting the way their juices mingled together on Constance’s heated flesh.

In the morning, Constance had kissed her goodbye, letting her know where all the contact information was, that she would be back next week, and how much she’d enjoyed last night, before grabbing her suitcase and heading out the door. Sylvie went back to sleep for a few hours, then got up to work out, practicing the dance moves for the new show at the Crazy Horse, Paris’ most famous burlesque theater. She had jumped in the shower, and had been washing her hair, letting the hot water rinse the conditioner from her thick strands, when D’artagnan joined her. 

“Would you mind washing my back?” she asked playfully, handing him the scented body wash she used.

D’artagnan poured the liquid soap on his hands, rubbing them together to create a lather. He started his hands at her shoulders, moving over her shoulder blades and sliding quickly down her smooth back. He paid extra attention to her perfect buttocks, caressing the rounded globes before going lower to find her completely soaked and ready to fuck.

“Lean forward,” he told her, and Sylvie braced her hands on the shower wall, spreading her legs wide. D’artagnan pulled her hips back into position, guiding his cock to the entrance of her body, pausing to let her feel his throbbing flesh before thrusting into her yielding pussy. D’artagnan moved inside her, enjoying the soft warmth as her body wrapped around his. Sylvie flexed her hips slightly, letting D’artagnan’s cock go deeper to find her sweet spot, while his hand reached around to finger her pearl.

“Mm,” she moaned, “you’re much better using the showerhead.”

As D’artagnan stroked between her legs, he couldn’t help but agree. Her lithe dancer’s body was flexible enough to get into a multitude of positions whenever they fucked, which they’d done from the day they met. He’d come over to watch a sex tape with Constance and she introduced him to Sylvie and their other roommate, Anne. While Anne and Sylvie went back to their rooms, he and Constance headed to the living room to watch the tape. It wasn’t long before they both had their pants off and were going at it on the couch. Sylvie had come into the kitchen to get something while Constance was grinding on top of him, and he saw her quirk her eyebrow at him over Constance’s shoulder. He gave a her a playful smile and a wink, and she went back to her room. Five minutes later, his phone buzzed to let him know he’d gotten a couple of messages. Because he wanted to watch Constance get off on him, he ignored them. But when they were lying in bed, with Constance sound asleep beside him, he eased himself away from her to check his messages. When he opened the first one, he smiled wickedly. It was a picture of Sylvie, completely naked and laying back against her bed pillows, her legs spread wide and her fingers holding her nether lips apart so he could see her bright pink pussy. Her equally pink tongue curling upward to tease her upper lip was all the invitation he needed, and he eased himself off the bed and silently crept down the hall to Sylvie’s room, where she was waiting for him in the same state of undress.

“About time you got here,” she said as he slowly closed the bedroom door, crawling toward him as he reached the end of her bed. She took his swelling shaft in her mouth and fellated him so vigorously that he thought his brains would get sucked out through his cock. Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, she stopped and turned around, presenting him with her ass so he could fuck her from behind, thrusting into her wet channel to give her the same energetic attention she’d given him, so she had to grab a pillow to muffle her scream as she climaxed around him and he pushed up hard against her as his own orgasm ripped through him. 

Remembering that night, D’artagnan speeded up his thrusting to pound her hard underneath the rushing water. Having her sweet spot mercilessly abused caused Sylvie to shout at the top of her lungs as she convulsed in orgasm, her pussy moving around him like a magic fist, and D’artagnan was equally vocal as his cock blasted seed into her body. As they stood beneath the cooling water, Sylvie reached for the bottle of douche that she kept in her shower caddy and cleaned herself. D’artagnan got out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry himself off, then handed one to Sylvie when she turned off the water. Wrapping the towels around their bodies, they headed into Sylvie’s room.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten about me,” Anne quipped, presenting her naked body to them as they came out of the bathroom.

“Never,” D’artagnan told her, giving her a solid smack on her pert bottom when she snapped his towel away from his hips to leave him as bare as her. Laughing at her yelp, he lay back on the bed to watch the two beautiful women in front of him. Taking off her own towel, Sylvie leaned over to kiss him, slipping her tongue between his lips, as Anne wrapped her fingers around his thick shaft to pump him back to fullness.

D’artagnan groaned as his cock swelled to its full size under Anne’s expert touch. Hers had been the second message he’d gotten on his phone the night they’d met. Another picture, Anne knelt on her bed in a classic pin-up pose. She wore a Fifties-style cardigan, completely unbuttoned to show her sleek, firm breasts with hard pink nipples. The only other garment she wore, white bikini panties, were lowered down around her knees, her hips pumped forward to draw his eyes toward her bare nether lips. Her doe eyes and pouty lips screamed at him to fuck her, so when he had finished with Sylvie, the next room he’d gone to was Anne’s, where she was waiting for him, knees bent and still wearing the cardigan, the white bikini down around her ankles, with a dazzling smile. D’artagnan crawled between her thighs, groaning when he sank into the rich creaminess of her pussy. Anne wrapped her legs around his waist, whispering encouragement as he fucked her hard into the mattress, her hands reaching up to grab the wrought iron columns of the headboard as he hammered her sweet spot into submission. His lips came down on hers and they swallowed each other’s cries as they climaxed together, their bodies pumping and releasing in time.

He stared, enrapt, as Anne licked her tongue up his cock, using it to trace the shape of the rotund head. Locking eyes with him, she took the rounded tip into her mouth and his breath caught at the delicious sensation of sliding deeper into her throat as she sucked him. Sylvie brought his attention back to her, slipping her tongue between his lips and drawing his hand between her legs so he could tease her pearl, playing with her slit at the same time.

“Please tell he’s ready,” Sylvie asked Anne breathlessly, panting as D’artagnan’s long fingers slid back and forth in her thoroughly soaked pussy.

“Ready and eager,” Anne told her, taking his cock, covered in spit and milky fluid, out of her soft mouth. Anne moved to straddle him, easing herself onto his pulsing crown, letting him feel the heat of her pussy seconds before he felt the dampness.

“Damn, you feel good,” D’artagnan growled as she sank down with excruciating slowness to wrap him in her silky-smooth channel. 

Anne swung her hips in tight little circles as she moved up and down his rock-hard length. Sylvie positioned herself on the pillows, placing one toned thigh under D’artagnan’s head and flexibly spreading her other leg in a split that let Anne watch as D’artagnan ate Sylvie’s pussy. The three of them slid easily into a rhythm that had them all groaning with pleasure, Anne and Sylvie’s cries mingling in an erotic harmony. D’artagnan eased a finger inside Sylvie’s wet passage, stroking her sweet spot while he sucked on her pearl, then inserted another finger to stretch her, making Sylvie climax, her juices flooding out to dampen his hand. Anne leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, her hips jerking rapidly as she chased her own orgasm. Sylvie, still flushed from her release, leaned over to kiss Anne passionately. D’artagnan watched as their tongues darted back and forth, reaching up to caress their breasts and thrusting up to hit Anne’s sweet spot to push her over the edge. Anne poured her cries of release into Sylvie’s mouth while her pussy squeezed D’artagnan’s cock. Unable to resist the lure of Anne’s climax, D’artagnan thrust harder to find his release, shouting as seed burst out of his cock into her pussy.

Completely spent, he lay back to watch as Anne and Sylvie slithered away from him to explore each other’s bodies.


	9. Up in the Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give credit to CanadianGarrison's story "Innocent When You Dream" for the idea of masturbation as insomnia cure, and the Michael Douglas/Jeanne Tripplehorn sex scene in "Basic Instinct" for inspiring the couch scene.

Constance paid the taxi driver and got out of the cab at the small private airfield, a small thrill going through her stomach as she wheeled her suitcase into the tiny airport. She’d never flown on a private plane before, so she was excited as she went through the small security screening checkpoint, which was completely empty but for her and the screeners. She had been chosen to go with the head of the dream clinic department, Jacques Bonacieux, to attend the annual European Sleep Research Association conference in Istanbul. When she found out she was going, she was over the moon, excited to travel to a city she’d never been to before, and the cherry on top of the sundae was that the head of the hospital, Duc Armand-Jean de Richelieu, generously gave them the use of his private plane to go there. Having passed the security check, Constance walked out onto the tarmac through the crisp morning air, putting on her sunglasses to shield her eyes from the bright rising sun. She ascended the short stairway into the plane, giving a brilliant smile to Bonacieux, who came forward to greet her with a glass of champagne to toast a successful conference while they waited for the flight crew to tell them to get ready for take-off. The pilot’s voice came over the loud speaker to let them know they were on schedule for their eight o’clock departure time and to please take their seats and fasten their seatbelts. 

_D'artagnan went through the airport security checkpoint, trying hard to stifle his yawn. He looked down at his watch as he put it back on his wrist. Ten minutes to boarding. Grabbing his carry-on bag from the conveyor belt, he walked through the terminal toward his gate, passing by the shopkeepers lifting their security gates in the early morning darkness. He passed a small café, considering whether to get a coffee, but deciding against it. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night, and the three-hour flight would be a good opportunity for a nap. He arrived at his gate just in time to hear the gate attendant announce that they were boarding the six-a.m. flight from Helsinki to Paris, starting with those needing extra assistance as well as the first-class passengers. D’artagnan got in line, handing his identification card and boarding pass to the attendant, who scanned it then waived him through. He walked down the ramp to the plane, returning the bright smile of the flight attendant who greeted him as he got on the plane, a gorgeous blonde whose nametag said “Ninon”. D’artagnan put his carry-on in the overhead compartment, then sat down in the spacious seat, watching as the other passengers filed past. When the flight crew closed the cabin door, he was pleased to see that he was the only one in first class. Ninon came over to close the overhead compartment, giving him another smile, then stayed to go through the safety demonstration as the plane taxied for take-off._

Constance felt the excitement rise inside her as Bonacieux paused again in his thrusting to let her enjoyment build. When the pilots had turned off the seatbelt sign, she had gotten out of her seat and went over to Bonacieux’s, untying the jersey wrap dress she wore to reveal the sheer pink bra and thong that left nothing to the imagination. With a playful giggle, she climbed onto Bonacieux’s lap to straddle him, brushing her lips against his as one masculine hand went to her buttocks and the other undid his belt and zipper. Constance reached down, her fingers curling around Bonacieux’s generously sized shaft to free him from confinement, giving him a couple of firm pumps as he pulled down her thong to ease a finger into her warm, wet pussy, going deeper to stroke her sweet spot so her hips jerked to get more from him. When he judged that she was ready for him, he cupped her buttocks and slid her down onto his rigid cock. Whispering in her ear to wrap her legs around his waist, he got out of his seat, carrying Constance to the bedroom area at the back of the plane. Sitting down on the bed, Bonacieux told her how to inhale to align their chakras. Constance let out a soft moan when he slowly moved inside her, glad that she had taken a chance on getting into his trousers. At first sight, Jacques Bonacieux looked like a stereotypical new age guru, practicing yoga and going on Buddhist retreats, and when she met him, Constance thought he was an aging hippie. But after working with him for many months, she found that he had an incredibly sharp scientific mind, encouraging her to find new solutions to help their patients, and pushing her not to give up when an experiment did not go according to plan. And now, with him introducing her to tantric sex as their plane flew toward Istanbul, Constance glided up and down his hard length, relishing the way his cockhead brushed her sweet spot in each direction, but also learning to savor the pulse and heavy rigidity of his cock when he stopped thrusting so her pleasure could increase. Once again resuming his rhythm, burying his lips in her throat, Constance felt the coil inside her unravel, and her mouth opened in a soundless cry as the most explosive orgasm she’d experienced rocked her body. Winnowing her fingers through his short black hair, she heard Bonacieux’s crude expletive as her pussy squeezed him like a python, then felt the dampness of hot seed bursting forth to coat her walls. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, basking in their mutually shared satisfaction, the pilot’s voice came over the loudspeaker to announce their descent and turn on the fasten seatbelt sign.

_D’artagnan finished the glass of champagne that Ninon had brought him shortly after the pilots had turned off the seatbelt sign. He reclined the seat down into the sleeping position, the privacy wall locking into place. He unfolded the cashmere blanket, spreading it across his lower body, then put in his earbuds and lay back against the soft leather. Closing his eyes, his hand snaked down under the blanket, and memories of the previous night rose in his mind’s eye as he undid his belt and lowered his zipper, his hand closing around the warm flesh of his cock as he eased it out of his trousers. His last night in Helsinki had been spent in the penthouse suite that was the favorite residence of the Comtesse de la Fere when she visited the city. The Comtesse, or “Milady” as everyone referred to her since her first marriage to a French nobleman several decades older than herself, had been a top fashion model who parleyed her success on the runway into creating the best-selling cosmetic line on the Continent. When he had first joined the company as a new biochemistry graduate from Curie University, she had come into one of the labs where he was testing a new emulsion, and it had been like getting hit by a thunderbolt. He didn’t see her again until six months later, when his boss told him that she’d requested that he accompany her on her trip to Sicily._

_On their first night, they’d found a hole in the wall trattoria where they ate pasta alla Norma and drank far too much red wine, at least that was the excuse they used when they ended their evening in an empty piazza, their clothes soaked as they fucked each other in a medieval fountain. It had been the most raw, sexual experience he’d ever had, and as he stroked his thickening shaft, he remembered their many trips together all over Europe, their days spent out in the fields finding new ingredients to use in Comtesse products, and their nights spent in luxurious suites, wrecking the bed with their energetic rutting. D’artagnan gave himself stronger tugs, putting a twist on his grip when he reached his swollen cockhead, his hand still slick from the complimentary lotion provided in the seat cubby, enjoying his private fantasy. Milady was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and, if he were honest, the most erotic lover. While he adored Constance with her open, playful sexuality, it was Milady’s bedroom tricks that made his cock harder than he’d been with anyone else and made him come more explosively, shuddering in an agony of satisfaction. Her favorite trick was slithering down his body whenever he called Constance to check in with her. She seemed to have a supernatural ability to know when Constance answered, taking him into her mouth the instant his girlfriend’s voice came on the line. So, D’artagnan had to suffer through those phone calls, trying desperately to have a conversation while Milady sucked his cock, her tongue finding every sensitive spot, her fingers caressing the baby smooth underside of his balls as he went deeper into her throat, making impossible for him to form coherent sentences. He did his best to play it off to Constance as masturbation, that it was his hand on his cock and not a pair of pillow-y lips making his hips jerk and his eyes roll back in his head. He’d barely get off the phone in time before ejaculating into Milady’s mouth, groaning as she swallowed the seed that splashed onto her tongue. They had spent the rest of the night fucking, only stopping when Milady had to get ready to go to the airport to board her private jet to join her current husband on their yacht near the Greek Isles. D’artagnan’s hand pumped faster as visions of his lover’s body danced in his head until, finally, he found release, his come wetting the blanket that covered him. Completely spent, D’artagnan relaxed into slumber, his hand falling away from his softening cock as he sank into oblivion._

The taxi ride to the hotel was the longest of Constance’s life. Touching down in Istanbul, she and Bonacieux had stepped off the plane into the hot Turkish air, going straight to the private car that would take them to their hotel. Sliding across the back seat, Constance couldn’t believe the luxury in which she found herself, and she felt like a princess, making a mental note to thank the Duc for his kindness. The streets of Istanbul were crowded, filled with taxis carrying tourists to their destinations, vendors selling their wares, and locals grumbling about the first two groups getting in their way. Constance stared out the window, her eyes drinking in everything they could about the most exotic city she’d ever been to, until she felt Bonacieux’s lips brushing the nape of her neck, drawing her attention back into the car. Constance pulled his head down so their lips could meet, and their tongues danced back and forth between their mouths as they kissed each other passionately in the back seat. Bonacieux’s hand landed on her knee, lightly caressing the soft skin of her inner thigh as it slipped under the hem of her dress. Constance parted her legs for him, knowing that her pink thong was safely tucked in his trouser pocket, and his hand inched closer to her pussy. Between kisses, Bonacieux softly told her what he was going to do to her once they reached the hotel room, and Constance felt wetness spread between her thighs at the thought of taking him in all the ways he described in tantalizing detail. She tried to get him to slide his talented fingers inside her pussy so he could stroke her the way he had earlier, but he kept them teasingly out of reach. Her hand went to the front of his trousers, finding him already partially aroused before he took her hand away, admonishing her that public fornication was severely punished in this country. His hand then went to the front of her dress, going inside her bra to play with her chubby breasts, rolling her nipples into little buds between his fingers as he told her how much he had enjoyed their plane ride. Constance’s hand dipped low, intent on relieving the pressure between her legs, but Bonacieux captured her wrist and brought it back up while his lips moved to her throat. So, she had no choice but to sit there, wet and aching with need, as he played with her body, teasing but never satisfying. She cursed every time the car slowed or stopped due to traffic, prolonging the time it took to get to the hotel and the release she desperately needed.

Just when she thought she was going to lose her mind, the car came to a complete halt, the driver announcing their arrival at the hotel. Constance whimpered when Bonacieux pulled away from her, getting out of the car, then holding out his hand to help her out while the driver handed their luggage over to the bellman. Going out of heat into the cool, air-conditioned lobby, Constance waited with the bellman while Bonacieux checked in to their suite, impatient to get upstairs. The elevator ride took what seemed like an eternity, as did the walk down the corridor. The bellman opened the door to let them into their suite, and Constance was left breathless at the view from the open French doors leading out to the balcony. She bit her lip as she heard Bonacieux tip the bellman, thanking the man in Arabic, and the second the door closed she was in his arms, devouring his mouth as he walked her back toward the couch. When her legs brushed the back, he spun her around, stripping her of her dress and bra, pulling against him and squeezing her breasts. Constance pushed her hips back, rubbing her ass against his groin, pleased to find him rock hard and ready for her. Bonacieux bent her over the couch, so she faced the magnificent view of the Bosphorus, and brought her legs up to rest on the back edge. He made her wait while he removed his shirt and undid his trousers to let them fall around his ankles and step out if them, his swollen cock leaking milky fluid as it stood fully erect. Constance groaned as he entered her, his shaft tunneling deep inside, and it only took two strokes for her to climax, her pussy spasming around his hard length, pulling him in to the hilt, and she shouted out her satisfaction. Bonacieux continued his vigorous pace, causing the pillow under her to move, and Constance could feel the corded edge working its way between her nether lips, anticipating the moment it touched her pearl. And that moment was glorious, the cool silk material rubbing against her heated flesh, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy once more. Constance jumped off into euphoria, reveling in the amazing orgasm, brought on by an equally impressive cock, taking place in a beautiful hotel suite, while she enjoyed the breathtaking vista before her. Boncieux’s cock erupted inside her, hot seed gushing out as he groaned with satisfaction. Sliding out of her vibrating sheath, he pulled her back to her feet, taking her hand to lead her into one of the bedrooms, and Constance let her eyes drift over his lean, sinewy body. They had hours to kill before the conference’s evening reception, and as she felt his iron rod probe her intimately again, she decided that she really needed to take up yoga, and asked if he could give her private lessons.

_D’artagnan grabbed his suitcase off the carousel and moved back to let other passengers come forward to claim their own luggage. Looking to his left, he smiled as he saw Ninon descending on the escalator, her carry-on bag next to her on the step. Ninon had come to wake him up when it was time to prepare for landing, and he flushed when he saw her eyes go to the wet spot over his groin. Not saying a word, she simply took his champagne flute, replacing it with a crisply folded note. D’artagnan opened it, grinning broadly when he read her request to meet her at the baggage claim. He returned his seat to its upright position, and stuffed the used blanket into his carry-on before sitting back down for the landing. When the plane had safely taxied to the gate, he grabbed his bag, and with a playful wink, told Ninon that he’d be waiting for her. She gave him a brilliant smile as she walked up to him, and together they emerged from the terminal out into the bright midmorning sunshine. D’artagnan hailed a taxi and they chatted all the way to Ninon’s hotel. He paid the driver when they reached their destination, then waited patiently while Ninon checked into her room. They rolled their suitcases through the corridor to the room, and D’artagnan felt the eagerness coursing through him as he heard the click of the door lock as Ninon inserted the key in and out, opening the door to let them into the cool, air-conditioned room. Parking their suitcases to the side, they went over to the bed, their hands going to undo the fastenings of their clothes. D’artagnan tossed his Henley shirt to the side as Ninon unbuttoned her jacket and blouse, and his hands unbuckled his belt while she reached behind to unhook her bra to reveal pleasingly full breasts topped with dark pink nipples standing at pert attention. Her eyes lit up when his trousers and briefs dropped to the floor and she saw the long, thick organ standing out from his body. Her skirt and panties slid down her legs and she reached up to remove the pins from her chignon, shaking her head to let her blonde ringlets fall down her back. D’artagnan thought she looked like a goddess as she stepped daintily out of the pool of clothing, coming over to kiss him, slipping her tongue between his lips while her hand stroked the length of his cock. He motioned for her to get on the bed, coming up behind her as she went on all fours. He put his hand between her thighs to find her pussy thoroughly sodden, dipping his finger in her wetness then using it to tease her pearl, grinning wickedly when he heard her contented sigh. Pumping himself to make sure he was at his hardest, D’artagnan thrust into her, groaning as her walls unfolded like a flower around his bulbous cockhead, caressing him as softly the cashmere that had covered him less than an hour before. When he was completely buried in Ninon’s warmth, he began to move, slowly at first then picking up speed, his finger returning to the nub hidden in her folds. The sound of their perspiration slick bodies slapping together filled the room, and D’artagnan’s hands moved to cup Ninon’s swaying breasts, plucking at the stiff peaks while obscene commands tumbled from her soft lips. His hips jerked back and forth like a piston, his balls swinging forward to smack her outer sex as his cock found her sweet spot, making her come with a loud yell. Her climax sparked his, and D’artagnan pulled out a short way only to slam back in, his cock releasing a torrent of seed. When he had finished, he eased out of her then went over to the minibar, where he poured them both a glass of Hennessey, and carried them back to the bed, his swaying cock still glistening with Ninon’s juices. Laying under the sheets, they sipped the warm liquor as they basked in the afterglow of a great fuck, the scent of sex hanging over the bed. It wasn’t long before Ninon’s hand found its way to his groin, and D’artagnan pulled her under him, spreading her thighs to give her pussy another hard pounding, making her yell once more. Afterward, he dressed quietly while Ninon drifted off into a well-sated slumber. Taking his luggage, he made his way back to the main lobby and out to the street. Hailing another taxi, he got in and gave the driver the address for Constance’s apartment._


	10. Go For The Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also inspired by another work on this site - "Students of Lust" by RisingQueen2 (FallenQueen2).

Constance turned off the water of the shower in the women’s locker room. Having done her pre-swim rinse, she walked out in her black maillot to the pool at the Piscine des Tourelles, the public swimming pool two blocks over from the hospital, which was her favorite place to go when she needed to relax. Constance found that being in the water cleared her mind of the stress, as well as keeping her body nicely toned, and since D’artagnan was currently in Jerez investigating the potential skincare benefits of _primera yema_ sherry pressings, she needed something to take her mind off missing him. The scent of chlorinated water filled her nose as she walked over to the empty pool and jumped in, completely submerging herself, then rising to the surface, a smile on her face as she ran her hand over her braided hair. She never used a swim cap, mostly because it never worked for keeping her hair dry, but also because it reminded her of the little old ladies back home in the village of Pourquerolles who always wore the flowered variety whenever they went swimming on the beaches. She also dispensed with goggles, being able to swim with her eyes open.

Shooting off from the edge, Constance moved easily into a crawl stroke, timing her breaths to get the most distance, and she completed three laps in the Olympic-size pool. When she was on the return of her fourth lap, she heard muffled sounds, like two people having a loud conversation. Reaching the edge, she turned around to see, at the far end, a couple were having an argument. The dark-haired, fashionably dressed woman was shouting and gesticulating dramatically while the man, wearing only a swimming speedo, was calmly trying to soothe her, to no avail. Constance shot off the edge for her fifth lap, the water amplifying the argument that she really didn’t want to hear. She did her best to tune it out and eventually it stopped, but as she was nearing the other edge, something hard hit her shoulder, and pain lanced through her body, blinding her, and she felt herself sinking. But then, something grabbed her arm and she was being pulled up to the surface. Constance opened her mouth as soon her head was above water, trying to inhale while coughing and choking. She felt herself being shepherded to the edge and she gripped the tiles until she could breathe properly again.

“Are you alright?” a concerned masculine voice asked, and she felt a firm hand rubbing her back.

“I think so,” she said a little shakily, turning to face the owner of the voice and found herself considering warm brown eyes set above high cheekbones in a chiseled face that Constance thought was one of the most handsome she’d ever seen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you,” said the man she recognized as Emile Bonnaire, the captain of the French Olympic swim team, his dark eyes apologetic. 

Constance had watched him and his teammates compete in the Summer Games last month, she and Sylvie and Anne gathering around the TV with popcorn and snacks, because they all enjoyed watching very fit men wearing nothing but tight swim trunks. Over glasses of wine, they speculated and debated on how well hung the different athletes were, and they all decried the cameramen not giving enough attention to those powerful lower bodies so they could properly study them. Now that she inches away from him, Constance could see that the camera didn’t do Emile justice. His movie-star looks were enhanced by the beard that he was growing during the offseason now that major competitions were done, flecked with a few strands of grey but mostly the same warm brown shade as the locks that brushed his shoulders. She wasn’t surprised that the paparazzi followed him around as he went about his day in Paris, he was certainly easy on the eyes, but she guessed it was more to do with the overdramatic scenes his wife threw when they were in public, usually over Emile’s wandering eye. Constance could feel herself getting warmer as she saw that his eye had landed on her.

“I thought was alone,” he said, his voice becoming huskier as he moved closer to her. “The pool was closed for a private training session.”

“I didn’t know,” Constance replied, intensely aware of his strong arms coming up on either side of her to trap her against the wall. “I just assumed I lucked into having the pool all to myself.”

“You know,” Emile said softly, eyeing her mouth like a starving man with a plate of food, “your eyes are almost the same shade as this pool.”

Constance knew he was lying, but she still parted her lips as his mouth touched hers. It was like kissing a waterfall, his soft lips massaging hers, his tongue slipping in to slowly fill her mouth, a preview of the invasion yet to come, and her senses were overwhelmed by the way his body brushed up against hers to pin her to the side of the pool, letting her feel the hard ridge growing inside his speedo.

“What about…? Constance gasped as Emile left her mouth to caress her neck.

“Maria?” he finished for her. “She’ll be off to Chanel to rack up an insanely expensive tab, or to put key marks all over my new Porsche.” He pressed his lips to softest skin he’d ever felt. “Either way, we won’t be disturbed.”

Constance reached up to slide one strap of her swimsuit down, removing her arm from the hole. She winced as she moved to the strap on the other side, but Emile was there, his fingers gently easing the material from her injured shoulder. Pulling the suit down to her waist, his hands cupped her naked breasts, his thumbs teasing the pink nipples while he tested the resiliency of her flesh. When he tugged the maillot off her hips, Constance lifted her legs to slip them out of the suit so she was completely bare before him. One of Emile’s hands left her breast and went between her legs, his finger tracing the curve of her plump nether lips before easing into her wet channel.

“You’re burning up, even in water,” he growled, inserting a second finger to stretch her, a sensual smile curving his mouth as Constance curled her hips up, silently asking for more. Emile’s hand left her to ease his trunks down his hips, freeing his cock and balls, then guided her legs around his lean waist.

Emile was only an inch taller than she was, making him stand out among other athletes who towered over him, and his rivals frequently made disparaging remarks about his height, mostly because he beat them easily in one competition after another. But Constance found that he was very large where he needed to be, and she moaned, feeling her pussy stretched taut around his oversized shaft as he slowly filled her body. She brought his mouth over to hers, kissing him deeply as she tightened her legs around him to make sure he didn’t leave her sheath.

“You feel so good inside me,” she said against his lips. With their lips still teasing each other, Emile began to move, lifting her up so the waterline came to her chest, and she gasped as the water splashed her nipples, hitting the sensitive peaks right at the point where pleasure meets pain. The water also created resistance as Emile continued thrusting into her, causing a delicious drag on each stroke as he pulled out, then slammed back in, that had Constance moaning with pleasure. When she got home, she was going to tell Sylvie and Anne that his cock was everything they’d expected and more, and Emile certainly knew how to use it to have her panting like a polecat as he fucked her. She felt the muscles of his lean body flexing under her as he moved against her, admiring the control necessary to keep afloat in the deep water and, at the same time, give her an incredibly erotic experience. The water became choppier as Emile’s thrusts came harder and faster, and Constance wrapped an arm around his shoulders, her other arm reaching behind to grip the edge, lifting her torso out of the water, crying out as she climaxed around the iron shaft pumping in and out between her legs. She brought her lips down on Emile’s, biting gently when he groaned with satisfaction in his own release, and she felt a warm bloom between her thighs as his cock spurted seed inside her. They sagged against the side of the pool, enjoying the cool water on their heated skin.

“Where’s my suit?” Constance asked, looking around as Emile eased out of her pussy and pulled up his speedo. Looking down through the water, she groaned when she spotted the black material lying at the bottom of the massive pool, too far down for her to go get it.

“Don’t worry,” Emile told her, pulling her with him toward the ladder steps to get out. “The cleaners will fish it out. Besides, you’re not going to need it now.”

Emile helped her out of the pool, handed her his towel to wrap around herself, then lead her over to the men’s locker room. Constance breathed a sigh of relief to see that they were the only ones in the white and blue tiled room as Emile headed over to the shower area and turned on the hot water, steam billowing out, then went over to grab the nearby shower caddy. Constance dropped her towel and went to stand under the shower head, adjusted the water to the right temperature, then removed the black hair band, putting it around her wrist, her hands coming up to loosen her hair out of the braid she’d put it in earlier.

While Constance let the water flow through her strands, Emile kicked off his swim trunks and walked over to where she was. Pouring shower gel on his hands, he came up behind her and reached around to massage the fleshy mounds of her chest, soapy lather forming on her skin. Constance leaned back against him as he pinched the peaks of her breasts into stiff pebbles. She moaned softly as his hands moved over her belly to part her nether lips and her moans got louder as he pushed on the little button hidden in her folds, nibbling on her neck at the same time.

“My turn,” Constance said, gesturing toward the shower gel as her hips bucked against his hand. When he handed her the bottle, she turned in his arms, pouring soap on her hands. Mimicking Emile’s earlier motions, Constance rubbed her hands over his broad chest, her nails flicking over his flat nipples, eliciting a groan from his lips. With an impish smile, she caressed his rippled stomach, moving lower to wrap her fingers around his half hard cock.

Slowly she pumped him to fullness with one hand while the other cupped his balls, lightly caressing the smooth underside. Emile pulled her closer to kiss her deeply, his hands smoothing down her back, then tracing the crevice that separated her buttocks, going lower to find her wet and ready for him. Constance’s head tipped back as he used her moisture to draw an exquisite pattern around the edge of her slit. She offered no resistance when he turned her around, placing her hands on the ledge so she was bent forward, and his feet edged hers further apart. She gasped as he thrust into her from behind, her soap-slick pussy offering no resistance to his erect shaft, the wet sound of his penetration bouncing off the tiled walls. In this position, his fat cockhead pressed her sweet spot as he fucked her forcefully, and Constance gripped the ledge tightly as the orgasm tore through her body, her pussy squeezing Emile’s cock, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. Emile quickly joined her, his cock ejecting seed in violent bursts, pulling her hips firmly against him as his body drained into hers. He eased her back under the cooling spray and they washed each other’s bodies of the remaining soap. Emile turned off the water and grabbed a couple towels, wrapping one around his lean hips and using the other to rub against Constance’s body as he dried her off.

“Is your shoulder still bothering you?” he asked her, guiding her over to the massage table in an alcove by the lockers.

“It’s still a little sore,” Constance told him with an inviting smile as she dropped her towel, feeling the need to have his talented fingers on her body once more.

****

A week later, Constance was on her way to her office after the department’s morning meeting when the mail clerk handed her a small package. Sitting down at her desk, she opened the package to see a handwritten notecard laying on a length of black cloth. Opening the note, she saw it was from Emile, apologizing for the loss of her maillot and replacing it with a new one. Constance removed the black monokini from the box, her jaw dropping at what she saw. The bottom portion was so brief as to be nearly indecent, and the top portion was simply two strips of fabric that would do absolutely nothing to contain her pudgy breasts once she got in the water. Picking up Emile’s note, her eyes scanned to the postscript, where Emile told her that he was having a private training session at the pool that afternoon. Constance tapped edge of the card against her lips as she looked at the swimsuit laying on her desk. Hopefully this one wouldn’t end up at the bottom of the pool.


	11. The Bodies in the Library

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Where is it written that the Sexy Librarian has to be a woman?  
> 2\. Because Sean Pertwee is the Best. Alfred. Ever.

Constance hurried through the double doors to hear the announcement that the Bibliotheque de la Sorbonne would be closing at eight o’clock. Looking down at her watch, she cursed, seeing she only had fifteen minutes to find the materials she needed. She hurried across the library to the psychology section, her heels clicking on the polished parquet floor like overlong nails on a small dog. Her eyes scanned the shelves, not finding what she needed. She was about to give up when, like a guardian angel, someone came to her aid.

“Can I help you find something, Constance?” a raspy voice asked from behind her.

“Professor Sarazin,” Constance replied, turning to give the newcomer a bright smile. “I’m trying to find resources on dream therapy analysis for the new study at the hospital. Would you help me?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. 

“Well,” Sarazin said, stepping forward, “you could start with Grainger’s thesis.” He pulled a book from the shelf to hand to her. “But Yanagisawa has put forward some interesting new theories.” He went to the end of the row and extracted another book to give to her. “And when in doubt, there’s always Freud,” he said with a charming smile.

Shifting the books in her arms, Constance followed him up the spiral staircase going to the upper floor.. She took time to study him as they went to the shelves in the far corner. A man in his early fifties, Alfred Sarazin was tall, his cropped hair mostly gray and silver, with strands of the original color sprinkled throughout. His broad shoulders filled out the jacket of his impeccably tailored suit, and his tie was perfectly knotted, the shirt collar crisply folded over the silken material. Constance admired the easy masculine grace with which he moved as he led her over to the right section, letting the lilt of his voice lull her into a relaxed state as they passed rows of books.

They reached the alcove with the most extensive collection of Freud’s work in France. Sarazin launched into a discussion of studies that the famous psychologist had done in the area of dreams. Constance smiled, remembering how they’d met. The professor, who was one of the leading authorities on Freud, had come to the hospital to give a talk on dream analysis. Sitting in the theater, Constance had been fascinated by the topic, but also by the devastatingly handsome man at the podium, and when the talk had moved to sexual themes, as most lectures on Freud do, Constance felt herself getting wet, wondering what it would be like to be under him in bed, that sexy voice giving her erotic orders. Now, as his talk moved to those same sexual themes, she felt herself soak her panties, her pussy reminding her that she hadn’t been fucked since D’artagnan left for Kiev three days ago. Meeting Sarazin’s gaze, the heat in his crystal blue eyes and the blatantly sexual smile told her that he knew exactly what his words were doing to her, and he stepped forward, backing her against the bookshelf, his body inches away from hers. He deftly plucked the books from her arms and, setting them on an empty space, his voice became softer as he lowered his mouth to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, urging her to part them, and she did, her tongue coming out to tempt him into her mouth. With his body flush against hers, he pushed his lower body against her soft belly, where she could feel him very distinctly. _He was huge_ , she thought. Solid and heavy and totally male, and she was impatient to get him inside her, to feel her body wrapped tightly around him. As if reading her mind, Sarazin slowly slid her skirt up her legs, reaching up to pull her wet underwear down her legs. When he lifted her up and pressed her against the bookcase, she wrapped her legs around his waist and reached between them to unfasten his trousers, his erection brushing against the opening of her body. Constance moaned loudly as she felt his broad girth spread her walls far apart as he entered her.

"Shh," Sarazin hushed her, pressing a finger against her lip to quiet her. "We're in a library, remember?" He kept his finger against her mouth while his iron shaft inched forward, savoring his possession of her.

Holding her thighs in a firm grip, Sarazin thrust into her, using deep, surging strokes as he satisfied Constance's curiosity about being fucked by him. She gripped the shelf below her, using it as leverage to grind on him, desperate for more friction. Sarazin adjusted the angle of her hips so his pelvic bone rubbed against her pearl. Constance bit her lip, stifling her shouts of joy into whimpers as his cock smacked her sweet spot again and again. Sarazin thrust harder, and she felt book spines digging into her back, while her shoulders were pressed mercilessly into the upper shelf, but she didn't care about the pain. Her pussy was squeezing his unyielding length and she opened her mouth to scream at the top of her lungs. Sarazin's mouth came down on hers, swallowing her orgasmic cries, and a minute later his groan of satisfaction rumbled in his chest as his cock gushed hot seed between her thighs. While Constance's breathing was ragged as she gulped down air, Sarazin calmly removed the pocket square from his jacket and brought it down between their bodies to replace his spent cock.

"You know," he said his eyes gleaming with masculine satisfaction as he pressed the silk fabric against her slit, "I have one of Freud's private diaries   
in my collection at home. Would you like to see it?"

An hour later, Constance was stretched out naked on a wide bed, Sarazin spooned up behind her, their legs scissored together. In front of them lay Freud's diary, the pages open to a pornographic sketch of his mistress Dita, accompanied by graphic descriptions of their sexual behavior. Lifting her thigh to drape over his, Sarazin thrust into her warm, wet channel, and as she felt his rhythm take her back to that delicious moment in the Sorbonne library, Constance leaned back against his broad chest, moaning loudly when his thumb brushed her nipple as he squeezed her soft breast. Flexing her hips back, with his lips pressed against her throat, she decided she really needed to read more Freud.


	12. Hot Tub Sex Machine

Constance got into the taxi at the airport, giving the driver the address. As the vehicle sped toward her destination, she rolled down the window, admiring the Portuguese landscape. The summer sun baked the stone buildings as the taxi made its way through the streets of Lisbon, and Constance felt a thrill go through her as she took in the vibrant city. It was her first time travelling to Portugal and she took out a copy of the email conversation she’d been having with her prospective hostess, Louise, an architect who owned a charming pied-a-terre with her graphic designer boyfriend, Francesco. Constance had found them through a specialized travel site, seeing that they were looking for someone to rent their spare bedroom, and she booked it for a week.

The driver wound his way up the hill deep in the heart of Lisbon’s historic district, and Constance spotted the building in the picture on Louise’s page. The taxi stopped in front of the brightly painted building and, as Constance got out and paid the driver, a handsome man with dark hair and eyes came out to take her luggage, introducing himself as Francesco, kissing her on both cheeks in greeting. Francesco led her up six flights of stairs to the top floor, where Louise opened the door for them, giving her the same greeting Francesco had. A vivacious brunette with caramel curls and stunning milk chocolate eyes, Louise gave her a quick tour, showing her the kitchen, the bathroom, and the rooftop entertaining area. Going back downstairs, Louise showed Constance to her room, telling her to enjoy her siesta and to be ready to go out at eight o’clock. Constance went over to the window, leaning her arms on the ledge, looking out on one of the most beautiful cityscapes she’d ever seen.

At eight o’clock, Constance headed down the stairs with Louise and Francesco, going out into the warm evening air. The plan for her first night in Lisbon was bar-hopping and a fado concert, so Constance made sure she wore a flirty dress and heels low enough to move easily along the cobbled streets as the trio went from one family-run bar to another. Constance drank the fizzy vinho verde and smooth Douro reds while she sampled the culinary delight of Portugal. The fado concert was the best she’d ever been to, the traditional songs about the vagaries of love touching her heart.

When they returned home, Constance followed Francesco up to the rooftop terrace. While Constance enjoyed the view of the city bathed in the fading light, Francesco opened the doors of the shuttered white gazebo and went inside. Going over to the doorway, she watched as he removed the cover of the tiled hot tub, It wasn’t a large Jacuzzi, only able to seat four, but Constance found herself looking forward to soaking in the water after a long day. Francesco’s deft fingers switched on the jets and, with a sexy smile, unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his chiseled chest. Returning his smile, Constance pulled her dress over her head, unhooking her bra while Francesco undid his trousers. She felt herself get wet at the sight of his well-endowed cock, which was already partially erect. Sliding her wet panties down her legs, she took his hand and let him guide her into the hot tub. Francesco pulled her close, his mouth coming down on hers, and Constance leaned into the kiss, taking his shaft in her hand. With a firm grip, she pumped his length, putting a twist on the cockhead when she reached it, enjoying the way his size grew and thickened against her palm. Francesco parted her nether lips with his finger, easily finding her pearl and pressing until she squirmed. When he was fully engorged, Francesco sat down, turning Constance so she was on his lap facing away from him. Lifting her hips, he pulled them back, guiding his cock to her entrance, and Constance moaned as her pussy stretched out around his large length as he filled her completely. Leaning forward with her hands on his knees, Constance lifted herself up his rigid shaft, then sank back down, a shiver of desire rolling through her when his rounded tip brushed her sweet spot. Finding her rhythm, Constance was so consumed with grinding on Francesco that she didn’t hear the footsteps until Louise appeared in the gazebo.

Smiling, Louise let her dress fall to the floor, stepping out of the pool of fabric completely naked and joining them in the hot tub. Brushing her soft lips against Constance’s, Louise slipped her tongue into the other woman’s mouth while her finger went unerringly to Constance’s pearl, stroking it as her new houseguest rode Francesco’s cock. Constance moaned loudly, her hips pumping faster as pleasure buffeted her. When Louise’s mouth left hers, Constance took the nipple of the other woman’s well-rounded breast into her mouth, sucking as her hand moved between Louise’s thighs, two fingers sliding into her sodden pussy. Louise purred when Constance found her sweet spot, widening her stance so Constance’s fingers could pleasure her better, her hips jerking as she fucked the other woman’s hand. Constance moved to suckle Louise’s other breast, adding her thumb to the fray, her nail flicking the swollen nub at the same time as she pressed the sweet spot in that silky channel. Louise’s head tipped back as she climaxed, her walls squeezing Constance’s fingers like a vise as she found an amazing orgasm. Francesco rubbed Constance’s pearl as another powerful stroke sent her coming after Louise, gripping the sweetly curved body as orgasm tore through her own. Francesco groaned as he found his release, his cock spewing seed into Constance’s pussy.

As the three new friends basked in the afterglow, Constance’s last thought was that if all her days and nights in Lisbon were going to be like this one, she was going to have the time of her life.


End file.
